


If You Need Me

by TwoBoys2Love



Series: Light Wolf [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Kiss, Frottage, Hurt Sam Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Werewolf Sam Winchester, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-10 22:17:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7863280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwoBoys2Love/pseuds/TwoBoys2Love
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A careless moment on a hunt leaves Dean holding his brother’s life in his hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Need Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fiercelynormal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiercelynormal/gifts).



> For Fiercelynormal because she betas SO much of my work and never complains about my commas. And I love her :)

Sam had a bad history with werewolves. He'd learned the hard way that you never forget the eyes that gaze into yours as you shoot them with a silver bullet.

 _Madison_.

All those years ago and Sam could still see her wide, tear-filled brown eyes in his mind. They had been full of trust and tenderness. _She_ had been worried about _Sam_.

Maybe that was why Sam wasn't paying attention when he _really_ should have been.

"Sam! Get it in gear!" Dean yelled across the clearing. They'd chased the werewolf into a forested area. The problem was the complete lack of moonlight in the sky. A storm had blown in and clouds had wrapped up the moon in an impenetrable barrier. Even once their eyes were accustomed to the darkness, Sam could barely see.

Sam could only just see where Dean was and as he watched, his brother slipped around the edge of the clearing until he could slip in behind Sam. It was never really a good idea for them to be separated when they were on a hunt; at least, not when it was pitch black outside.

For a few moments, Sam led the way forward. Flat-footed, gun-drawn, eyes wide, Sam moved as slowly and steadily as he could. The tension was building in his body. All of Sam's muscles and tendons were tight; his neck ached and his head was pounding.

A movement along the edge of the clearing caught Sam's eyes and he froze. Dean ran into his back and swore softly.

"Jesus, Sam."

"Shhh."

"You shhh. What'd you stop for?"

Sam turned and glared at Dean even though his brother probably couldn't see it. "What do you _think_ I stopped for?"

"Did you see it?" Dean said in a low voice.

"Yeah," Sam answered. He looked forward into the clearing again. "Maybe. I don't know."

"Could you _be_ more vague?" Dean shoved past Sam. "I'm heading around the other side. Stay sharp."

If it was worth the energy, Sam would have muttered something obnoxious.

As his brother moved through the trees almost silently, Sam refocused his attention across the clearing.

There was nothing about the clearing that stood out but the hunter's instinct in Sam's brain was going off like an alarm. Sam hated the way that innocent people could be turned and none of the lore gave them a _fucking_ clue how to save someone. As far as they knew there simply was no cure for the monster they were hunting.

Fortunately, it seemed as though the guy they were hunting was a pretty shitty guy. There was something pretty unsettling about the way the werewolf was intimidating people. Usually people didn't have an awareness of what they were doing. This one seemed to get a kick out of scaring the _shit_ out of people by lurking around their windows late at night and howling in the hills. It was sick. Sam thought the creature _knew_ exactly what he was doing. Dean didn't.

Sam had asked his brother if he thought the guy was terrorizing people deliberately. Dean had written the idea off; he figured it was just proximity. It was a small town, the _"God damn thing is probably bored."_ Dean had assured his brother that the werewolves were mindless meat-eaters with a lot of time on their hands and awesome night-vision.

The gut feeling of Sam's that the werewolf was more dangerous than usual had stuck with him though. The idea felt a little like a brick that was settled in the bottom of Sam's lungs. Every time he breathed in the pressure was so bad his entire chest ached.

A branch snapped somewhere ahead of Sam and his eyes widened. Automatically, Sam swung towards the noise. There was a slight wind; the rustling of the leaves was getting on Sam's nerves. He gritted his teeth to try and ignore the way his nerves were rattling in his head.

There was another sound. It was a step, or maybe a rock falling. _Fuck_. It was hard to tell. The only thing Sam knew was that it wasn't Dean. Instinct always allowed Sam to _sense_ the presence of his brother. He'd told his brother about that once and Dean said it was _hooey_. Sam had laughed until Dean had thrown a book at him. Who said, _hooey_?

_Senses._

_Instincts._

Sam's head whipped towards a strange sound. His colt was dead still as he aimed it into the darkness. There was nothing moving there; no sound, but the breeze in the leaves.

And then everything changed. The sound off to Sam's right sounded like a jet plane. For a fraction of a heartbeat, Sam thought the sound was everywhere. Time slipped into a bizarre knot and it felt like it took years for anything to happen.

The weight that slammed into Sam's shoulder blade knocked all the air out of his lungs. The force of the blow spun Sam around in a complete circle. His finger pressed the trigger and fired one of the silver bullets as he began to fall backwards.

It was all noise and weight and the metal tang of air around the gun. The ground was completely unforgiving when Sam had slammed into it and pain seared through his thigh. His arms came up automatically to protect his face from whatever was on top of him.

The werewolf was huge. The dark mass swarmed over Sam. The roar of hot breath sent an unfamiliar jolt of fear spiraling down Sam’s spine. "Dean!!"

He knew that his brother was there; Dean always had his back but Sam couldn't hear anything over the growling and inhuman screeching. Knife-like claws sliced across Sam's' chest and he swung his Colt into, what he thought was, the side of the creature's head.

Sam thought he heard his brother calling his name. There was nothing he could do but try to evade the snapping jaws that were drawing closer and closer to his face with each bite.

Another shot rang out and Sam thought he heart it ricochet off something near him.

The creature reared back to strike at Sam once again. A shot fired and the roar from the werewolf blew fiery breath across Sam's arms. The full weight of his attacker fell on him at the exact moment that another sharp pain sliced into Sam's forearm.

Everything went silent for Sam. The entire night was muffled by the body of the guy lying on top of him.

"Sammy?"

The ton of bricks on Sam's chest shifted as Dean dragged it away slowly.

"Fuck, Sam," Dean muttered. He took a knee at Sam's side and held his brother's neck steady.

When Sam tried to speak, he ended up coughing. He could taste blood and the corner of his mouth stung.

"You okay?"

The inventory Sam was doing of his body wasn't going great. His thigh was throbbing and he could feel the hot, wet sensation of blood soaking his jeans. His arm was stinging - was it from teeth? A little frantic, Sam tried to sit up only to find himself held down by Dean's hands.

"Sam!" Dean slid his hands down to grip his brother's shoulders. "You good?"

Sam knew exactly what Dean was asking him. Had he been bitten? His mind ran over the knotted up mess of images, flashes of pain, the swing of his limbs, the briefest flashes of claws and teeth. It was impossible to decipher one moment from another.

He glanced down at his arm. It could be teeth marks he was seeing but it could also be flesh torn up by branches or rocks.

"Fuck," murmured Dean as he took in the length of the wound on Sam's forearm.

For a fleeting moment, Dean looked _too_ worried and Sam tensed. It _couldn't_ be a bite.

The moment passed and Dean snatched up the hem of his t-shirt and tore a strip of it off. He wound the material around Sam's forearm and knotted it.

"My leg," Sam said softly. The pain in his body was ramping up as the adrenaline faded and he still had to get back to the car.

Dean ripped the sleeve of his plaid shirt off and pressed it to the hole in Sam's leg.

"We gotta get back." Dean looked around almost as though he expected help to appear out of nowhere. "Can you make it?"

Sam grimaced. "Do I have a choice?"

"No." Dean answered firmly. "Glad we're on the same page. Let's get your stupid ass back to the car."

The planet seemed to spin a little _too_ fast for a while as Sam was hauled to his feet. He groaned when Dean hooked his brother's arm over his shoulders.

The mile to the car was going to feel like fifty. Sam looked down at the gaping mouth of the man they had killed. His bared teeth were covered in blood and Sam felt his chest ache again. _It couldn't be._

Sam hardly said a word as they hiked back to the car; there was too much pain and just beyond the haze of that was the image of the bloodied teeth. Did it matter when the bite happened? What if it happened at the moment of death?

Sam barely managed a groan as Dean stuffed him into the back seat of the Impala. His thigh felt like someone was constantly stabbing it with an ice pick. The bloodied teeth still lurked around in his mind. Maybe the blood came from a self-inflicted wound, a bite on his _own_ arm because of the fall. No matter how much pain he was in though, Sam still found himself wondering whether it was his blood he'd seen.

By the time Dean shouldered the Pair-O-Dice Motel room door open he was practically carrying Sam. Sam had never been so pleased to see a shitty Motel in his entire life. Relief flooded over Sam as Dean sat him on the edge of his bed. Everything hurt. If he was bitten he should be healing or something; not feeling even worse. "Stupid," Sam muttered.

"Yes, you are." Dean called out from across the room. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey and what looked like bandages.

It was gonna suck getting stitches. Sam heaved himself back so he could lean back against the headboard.

His thigh was throbbing and he was sure the hole in it would be far bigger than they thought. He picked at the knotted material binding his arm.

"Leave it," Dean growled. He held the bottle of whisky out to Sam. "Drink."

"Alcohol in and out."

"Wouldn't have to do this if you'd been more careful." There was a tone in Dean's voice that made Sam close his eyes. The last thing he wanted to do was have a fight with his brother. "Dean, it came out of nowhere -"

" - you were _off_ tonight. There was something weird about you all day."

Sam took a few mouthfuls of whisky. It felt like red, hot sand on his throat. But the burn of it spread across his chest and loosened the muscles slightly. "I'm sorry."

Dean paused and then raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Nothin'" Dean sat beside Sam's hip and unwound the makeshift bandage. He pressed his lips together tightly and took the bottle back from Sam. "Ready?"

"No."

Dean tipped up the bottle and poured whisky into the open wound.

Pain seared along Sam's arm. His stomach knotted up and his mouth started to water as soon as bile began creeping up his throat. "I think. I'm gonna-"

" - you pass out? I'll just leave you like this," Dean grumbled.

It was the last thing Dean would do and Sam knew it. It just meant that Dean was scared. He'd never admit it, Dean kept his feelings to himself. It was only because of the years they'd spent together that Sam could interpret the language of Dean's worry.

Dean worked quickly while Sam drank the pain away. Dean was great at stitching but Sam was better at setting bones and reducing dislocations. It amused Sam for a few moments that he even had to know that. They knew so much about injuries; they knew things that would make other people lose their shit.

When Dean was finished, Sam was lying on the bed in his boxers. Everything he'd been wearing was either blood soaked or torn. His entire body ached and the room was swirling a little when Sam moved his head to watch Dean.

"Get off that bed." Dean grabbed Sam's arms and hauled him up off the bed.

As soon as Sam was vertical, the room began to spin in earnest. He stumbled to the side and Dean held him up. They made it across the room and Dean dumped his brother down on the other bed.

"This is your bed," Sam muttered even as he was lying back onto the cleaner pillows.

"You wanna lay on whisky and blood all night? Be my guest." Dean trudged back over to the other bed and had a drink of whisky.

The room felt a little too far away and Sam shook his head slightly. It didn't help. "I know you don't believe me but I _am_ sorry. I heard something and then -"

Dean held his hand up for Sam to be quiet. "Don't get your shit in a knot over this, Sammy. If you're good, that's all that matters." Dean's mouth curved into a slight smile and then he had another gulp of whisky. After he set the bottle down he turned and flicked off the main light in the room.

"It came outta nowhere," Sam muttered more to himself than his brother.

"Monsters, remember? Sneaky sons of bitches." Dean pulled the tattered remains of his t-shirt off and tossed it across the room into the garbage. He sat down on the chair near the TV and pulled his boots off.

Unconsciously, Sam traced his fingers along the thick stitches that Dean had closed the wound on his arm with. The skin was tingling and throbbing at the same time. He closed his eyes and traced the shape of the wound. _Teeth_ glinted white in Sam's mind and he jumped.

When Dean looked up he looked amused again. "Can you smell toast, Sammy?"

"What?" Sam frowned.

"Stroke? Burnt toast?" Dean finally managed to get his second boot off and dropped it on the floor.

Sam wasn't really paying attention to what Dean was talking about. He was too drunk, too sore and too worried to listen to Dean's banter.

When Sam looked up, Dean just shook his head. When he stood, he unbuckled his belt and picked up the whisky again for another drink.

Sam rubbed at his forehead. The room had stopped spinning and the lamplight felt like it was burning his eyes. "Can I have another drink?"

"You're drunk already." Dean shoved his jeans down over his hips and stepped out of them.

"So?"

Dean laughed. "As persuasive as your argument is, no. I'll give you some pain meds."

Even though he was annoyed, Sam decided against arguing with his brother. Amongst other annoying characteristics, Dean had a stubborn streak to rival anyone Sam had ever met.

"Here."

When Sam looked up Dean was beside the bed with four pills in his palm.

Sam took them and tossed them into his mouth. There was a glass of water on the nightstand and Sam took a drink from it.

"Gross. That's been sitting there since the night we arrived."

Dean bent down and flicked the bedside light out.

As Sam listened to his brother walk around to the other side of the bed, he wiped his mouth. The pills felt like they were stuck in his throat but the water _was_ gross. It was room temperature and tasted like dust.

The bed bounced as Dean flopped down on the other side of the bed. "You're gonna look like hell tomorrow."

Sam slid further down on the bed and tried to get comfortable. He was far too exhausted to fight with the sheets and the room felt too hot. It would be a miserable night for him and there wasn't much he could do about it. He shifted restlessly.

"Sleep, Sam. A good breakfast tomorrow and another fist full of pills and you'll be fine." Dean chuckled.

If nothing else, Sam was happy that Dean didn't seem to be too worried. That was a good sign. There couldn't be anything wrong with Sam because Dean would know. When it came to his brother, Dean had always been able to sense when there was something wrong.

That was just the way things worked for them. It was the Winchester way. They knew each other better than most brothers.

They were all each other had.

Sam rolled onto his side and groaned. The throbbing in his arm started anew and he could feel the wound on his thigh beginning to stick to the bandage.

"You okay?" Dean rolled over to face Sam. He looked really tired.

"Just sore. I'll get over it."

For a few moments, Dean stared at his brother then he reached out and tousled Sam’s hair. "Night, Sammy."

A comforting warmth spread over Sam's scalp and down his neck. He closed his eyes again and tried to relax.

Dean thought he was okay so he _had_ to be okay. That was how things went.

-=-=-=-

It turned out that Sam _didn't_ have trouble falling asleep. He only knew that because the sun was streaming in the partially covered window when he woke up. It was hitting him right in the eyes.

The first thing Sam heard was his own stomach rumbling loudly. He was absolutely starving. He rolled towards the side of the bed and dropped his feet to the floor. He grabbed his phone off the nightstand and checked the time. It was 6 am.

Early, but Sam was certain the roadside diners would be open. "Dean, m'hungry."

Dean jolted and his hand slid under the pillow for the ever-present knife. "What?"

Sam turned so he could see his brother. "Food. I need to eat."

"Well, let me get right on that for you," Dean said in his gravelly morning voice. "Fuck off, Sam."

"I'm gonna shower. Then I'm goin' for breakfast." Sam stood and headed over to the window to peer out.

"How you feelin'?"

"Fine." Sam stretched his arms up above his head and twisted from side to side to work the kinks out of his back.

"Right." Dean groaned loudly. "You turning over a new leaf? Usually, you bitch like crazy when you're hurt."

 _Hurt_. Sam froze and cool fear drizzled down his skin. He shivered and took a deep breath before lowering his arms.

The wound on his forearm didn't hurt much. In fact, it seemed to hurt far less than it should.

The sun shone on the bandage Dean had put on Sam's arm. Some blood had soaked through during the night and it was dark red in the early morning sun. His fingers lingered near the edge of the bandage for a few moments but he couldn't bring himself to lift it off his skin.

"How's your arm?"

Sam jumped and folded his arms across his chest. "Aches."

"Not surprising," Dean muttered. He flopped over onto his belly and turned away from the sun.

Sam headed over to the bathroom quickly, closed the door and locked it. He took a few moments to catch his breath. He had no idea what was going on. Or, at least, he didn't want to explore the possibilities.

He washed his face and brushed his teeth and felt a little relieved when he saw some bruising on his neck and shoulder.

"There's an explanation for everything," Sam muttered under his breath.

-=-=-=-

It wasn't too difficult for Sam to _fly under Dean's radar_. They were busy. They were always damned busy. The world was full of shit that needed hunters to clean it up. And, sometimes, it felt as though the Winchesters were the only hunters working.

The first few days after Sam's injuries, he was benched by his brother. Dean said that he could handle things on his own while Sam healed.

By the third day, Sam couldn't put off looking at his wounds anymore. He'd never been more pleased to see stitches over a dark red scab. Sure, it looked better than Sam expected but it still looked bad enough for him to push aside the stupid anxieties he'd been living with.

Then life went back to normal. Well, _normal_ for Sam and Dean Winchester. So - they hunted.

Dean put Sam back in action after a few days. There was a haunting, something that turned out to be a creepy teenager with fancy electronic gear and a demon.

There were no werewolves or other _bitey monsters_ as Dean put it. Sam had had more than enough run-ins with werewolves. He'd be _very_ happy to pass a werewolf case off to some other hunter. _Gladly._

It was their regular life of drive-in food, cheap motels and long nights.

But there was one small difference for Sam. Anyone would do it. Sam easily convinced himself that it was normal for him to have a lingering doubt. He was counting down to the next full moon.

There were times when he felt really stupid about it. But, he knew that, once the full moon had passed he could relax completely. He wouldn't have the gnawing, little doubt in his mind all the time.

He didn't think it was affecting him too much but he and Dean fought more than usual. Nothing big, but everything seemed to irritate Sam. He wrote it off to the fact that he was having trouble sleeping. He would be awake half the night, staring at the ceiling or looking out the window.

He wasn't exhausted or anything; he always seemed to get a few hours of sleep. But lying in bed, wide awake at night was driving him insane. He could only read until the lamp light pissed Dean off. He would squint at the bright light of the screen on his phone for a while, but, mostly, he lay in bed thinking.

Thinking was one of those things that always gave Sam a lot of grief. As the days to the full moon passed by one at a time, Sam could feel tension building in his neck and shoulders again.

9, 8, 7, there was no reason to worry. He didn't feel any different. His wounds hadn't healed too quickly. There was no reason to think he was any different at all.

6, 5. All of Sam's problems with sleeping could be because their lives were pretty crappy. They ate shit food, they never seemed to find any time to exercise. The only time Sam really got any cardio was when something was chasing him.

4,3,2. Sam began to wonder if he was just sick of his brother. It could be that he was bitchy all the time because Dean was pretty annoying. Anyone who spent any time with Dean would agree with that.

And then there was the morning that Sam woke up knowing there would be a full moon hanging fat and bright in the night sky. Sam was distracted and jittery from the moment he woke up. It was like he'd had two full pots of coffee and had a constant caffeine buzz.

They were spending a day striking things off their to-do lists. Dean was going to clean the car and change the oil. It was Sam's job to do the laundry.

Two hours at the local laundromat meant that Sam had been alone in the small room with clunking machines and his thoughts and fears. There'd been nothing to distract him.

It was too long. When he finally returned to the motel room with a duffle bag full of clean clothes he was restless and anxious. Sam was _so_ wound up that if felt like his skin was crawling. He was pretty sure that he'd never felt that way before. He just tried to convince himself that he was getting wound up over nothing. Anxiety could really drive a person crazy.

The door to the motel room banged shut and Sam spun, ready for a fight.

"Jesus." Dean tossed a pizza box on the table. "How much coffee have you had today?"

Sam tried to relax and rubbed his face vigorously. "I've been inside far too long."

It really hadn't been all that long but Sam felt a restlessness deep inside. It was like a burning itch somewhere deep in the middle of his body.

"Have some pizza." Dean grinned over his shoulder. "Pizza makes everything better."

Sam flipped the pizza box open. The smell that wafted up towards Sam's nose was _very_ unappealing.

"Before you complain, Sam. That pizza _only_ has pepperoni on it." Dean fetched a couple of beers from the small, loud, room refrigerator.

When Dean sank down onto the chair opposite, he slid a bottle across the table towards his little brother.

A subtle pounding had wormed its way into Sam's head. The last thing he wanted was a beer. "Need anything from the store?"

"What?" Dean shoved too much pizza into his mouth. He was chewing with his mouth open and looking very pleased with himself.

The noise was making Sam's ears ring. "Can't you chew with your mouth closed?"

Sam paced over to the window and pulled the curtain back. The sun was going down but Sam couldn't find the moon on the horizon for some reason.

"Whatever, Princess." Dean continued to chew and chomp until he was down a slice of pizza. "What's up with your ass today? You're bitchier than usual."

Everything Dean said was rubbing Sam the wrong way. He ran his hands through his hair and groaned. "I need to get out of here."

Dean lifted an eyebrow. "Door's over there."

Sam paced over to the table and snatched up the car keys. "Just gonna go for a drive."

For the briefest moment, Dean looked as though he was going to protest. Then his shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly. "Whatever. Drive whatever this mood is out of your system." Dean went back to a fresh slice of pizza.

A little pissed off at the flat-out dismissal, Sam let out a long sigh. It wasn't the time to get into it with his brother; not with the way his head was spinning. He nearly knocked the chair over as he hurried towards the door.

"You put a _scratch_ on Baby and I'll-"

"- kill me. Yeah. Yeah. I know," Sam growled. He tried not to slam the door behind him but the bang was still too loud for his sensitive ears. He cringed and then hurried over to the car.

Sam didn't relax once he was in the car, nor did he relax when he heard the dull rumble of the engine.

When he glanced out the side window, he could finally see the moon. It was glowing silver and peeping up over the crest of the huge hill ahead in the distance.

Sam's heart began to pound wildly in his chest. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he could feel a resurgence of the itching under his skin.

He had no idea how long he drove. It felt like he was racing away from and towards the cresting moon all at the same. Time.

"There's nothing wrong with me," Sam muttered. He was just fretting himself into a pointless frenzy. About all he was going to accomplish was feeling really stupid in the morning.

The road turned to gravel and Sam slowed down. The last thing he needed was a chip in Dean's precious windshield. Dean would never let him forget it and that would be _after_ he punched him.

When the road began to narrow, Sam rolled the window down so he could feel the cool night air on his face. The sweat on his forehead cooled quickly and Sam couldn't help shivering.

He glanced up at the moon as he finally began to relax a little. And then something shot through his body and all his muscles tightened across his chest. As pain ripped across Sam's body, he yanked the steering wheel to the side and managed to slam on the brakes just as the nose of the Impala was buried in a thick patch of blackberry bushes.

"Jesus." Sam flung the car door open but when he tried to stand it felt as though all his muscles had disappeared.

He cried out in pain as his body crumpled to the ground. "No," he murmured.

But Sam had been a hunter long enough to know what was happening to him, even if he'd denied it every single day since he'd been _bitten_.

Sam struggled to reach back into the car and turn the engine off. His back cracked loudly as he stretched up to the keys.

A wave of nausea slammed into Sam and he threw himself down onto the dirt trail beside the car. His guts twisted up and he retched a few times before throwing up the little he'd eaten for lunch.

Pain throbbed through Sam's body. It felt as though his bones were being stripped out of his body. Maybe they were, because when he finally managed to look down at his arms through bleary eyes, they looked as though they were bent at very strange angles.

The last things Sam managed to mutter was, "Not this."

He fell flat on the ground. The taste of dirt filled Sam's mouth. He coughed and yelled as the pain became completely overwhelming. It felt like his skin was being peeled off. His fingers clawed at the dirt and rock underneath him. He couldn't get air into his lungs and threw his head back to try and take a deep breath.

The moon was full and bright, silver light flowed down over the trees along the side of the deserted road. Even through the haze of pain, Sam thought how beautiful it was.

With the last of his energy, Sam tried to slide his hand down to the Colt that was tucked into his belt. But, it was like trying to move in quicksand.

He sank deeper into the twisting and snapping of his bones. His frame twisted into an unfamiliar shape.

It was really happening.

-=-=-=-

When Sam arrived back at the motel it was almost 11 in the morning. The sun was high in the sky, it was warm and he knew that Dean would be _really_ pissed off.

Dean would _kill_ him.

It wouldn't be because Sam took the car and stayed overnight. It wouldn’t be because he hadn't answered Dean's texts or phone calls.

Dean was going to kill his little brother because he was a fucking monster. It had definitely crossed Sam’s mind that he should just keep driving past the motel and leave Dean out of the entire thing.

But, Sam's hand was already on the door handle. For some reason, he couldn't leave Dean. Dean was all he had left in the world. That was always the way it was.

"Where the _fuck_ were you?" Dean asked quietly.

Sam blinked slowly and shrugged out of his filthy jacket. He'd tried to clean himself up a lot but it hadn't really helped much. His t-shirt was torn and muddy, he's lost his over shirt and there was blood smeared down the leg of his jeans.

As Dean's eyes moved up and down Sam's body, his expression darkened. He stood slowly. "Sam? You okay? What happened?"

"I'm okay. I… I slept in the car;" Sam said. He rubbed at the stubble on his cheek and then brushed his hair back off his face.

"Then I'm gonna kick your ass. You're fine but you look like you slept in a fuckin' ditch. _After_ a bar fight." Dean paced closer.

Sam couldn't help taking a step back.

Dean's eyes widened when he saw the blood on Sam's jeans. He gestured to the dark, red stains. "What's that?"

There were a few explanations that Sam had prepared but they all seemed really lame once he was facing his brother. "Dean. I need to shower. And I'm tired. Can we do this later?"

"Seriously?" Dean stepped closer. Even though his arms hung at his sides, Dean's hands were clenched into fists.

Sam was pretty sure there was a right hook in his future and he wouldn't blame his brother one bit.

"Dean, please. I'll explain after I shower." When Sam tried to step past his brother, Dean grabbed his wrist.

Adrenaline burst into Sam's veins and he snapped his arm back to twist out of Dean's grip. As he'd expected, a fist shot towards his face. Sam blocked it easily and slammed a hand into Dean's chest.

The impact sent Dean stumbling back and as he recovered his balance he pulled his Colt.

The barrel was aimed squarely at Sam's chest but it wavered slightly. "You think I wouldn't figure this out?"

Cold fear dribbled down Sam's spine. He held his hands up in front of him. "It's not what you think."

"It is _exactly_ what I think, Sam. You turned, didn't you?"

It had always been pretty difficult for Sam to lie to his brother. Standing there, staring into Dean's eyes made lying… impossible.

"Dean. Dean, I wasn't sure. I was…" What exactly _had_ Sam thought he would do? He had no idea.

There was a pink flush on Dean's cheeks and his pupils were wide and dark. He was a master at hiding his emotions but Sam could see the slightest tightness of anxiety across his forehead.

The barrel of the gun was still aimed at Sam. He knew it was, no doubt, loaded with a silver bullet. Even if Dean hadn't believed it could be true, he would be prepared. He always was.

Sam's shoulders slumped. "Dean I didn't. I couldn't believe it. I refused to believe that it had happened. I kept. I kept coming up with all kinds of excuses and explanations. And that night, it all happened so fast." Shaking his head slowly, Sam finally looked away from Dean.

The room was silent for a while and Sam shifted uncomfortably. He could sense the barrel of the gun still pointed at him and it didn't feel good at all.

Dean had always taken care of his little brother and Sam had no reason to believe that would change. He took a deep breath that felt like it was almost too much for his lungs.

When Sam finally lifted his head, he could feel the sting of tears as they welled in his eyes. He paused for a few heartbeats and then held his arms out. "Go ahead."

It was as though Sam had punched his brother. Dean took a half step backwards, the barrel wavered and Dean's' eyes widened.

Maybe that was the moment Dean had finally had to admit that there was a problem they couldn't solve. Sam had never seen that look on his brother's face before. It was one of the most frightening things Sam had ever seen. "We had a good run, Dean."

A look of disbelief flooded onto Dean's face. " _That's_ what you say to me? You tell me to shoot you and then you tell me, we've had a _good run_." The way Dean spat out the words they felt like vicious little barbs in Sam's skin.

"Dean's, don't make this harder for me," Sam said softly. His arms felt heavy at his sides.

"For you? You didn't even _tell_ me!" The barrel of Dean's gun dropped slightly but continued to tremble slightly.

"I didn't know," Sam answered.

"You couldn't _accept_ it."

Dean was right. It simply wasn't possible for Sam to have missed all the signs. But believing that he had made the ultimate Hunter's mistake had been too difficult. After everything they'd been through being bitten by a werewolf was almost laughable. "Dean, I'm sorry."

"Well, _that_ makes it all better," Dean said sarcastically. His features were twisted into a grimace and his knuckles were white where he clenched the gun too tightly.

"Don't… Let's. We know how this works, Dean." There was a weighty sadness growing in Sam's chest. He knew Dean. His brother made short work of monsters and that was exactly what Sam had become; a monster.

The Winchesters _both_ knew that there was no solution to Sam's curse. They'd been through it all before. The pain of the past nipped at Sam's heels again. It was never very far away.

"How the _fuck_ did you let this happen?" The gun wavered slightly. Dean blinked slowly. He looked exhausted. It looked as though every sleepless night, every hard fought battle, every broken bone and gash had caught up with him in that very moment.

"I didn't _let_ it happen," Sam answered quickly.

For a moment, Dean's expression softened. He never meant the accusatory things he said to Sam. Sam knew that. Dean's hard shell had built up because of fear, not bitterness.

They stood there looking at each other across the meager space between them. There was a tight ache in Sam's throat. Maybe they were struggling with the words because they both knew, all too well, what the next step was.

Dean, after all, hadn't lowered the Colt. It was still aimed dead center at Sam's chest.

Sam shifted his weight. His back was aching and there was a pain throbbing in his right thigh.

"Did you kill anyone?"

The question shouldn't have been a surprise to Sam. Any hunter worth his salt knew that the human counterpart didn't seem to have any control over the beast.

After a long pause, Sam shook his head. He looked down at his shirt and tugged at it nervously. Finally, he grabbed the bottom of it and pulled it off. He wiped some dirt off his arms then dropped the shirt of the floor. Yeah. He'd found his clothes near the trunk of the Impala when he'd stumbled back to the car. _Jesus Christ_.

"My clothes were clean. There was no blood… on me." Sam's fingers ran over the thigh of his jeans. "The stitches came out. It bled."

Even though Dean didn't say anything it was obvious that he was running over all the possible scenarios in his head. Several expressions flitted across his face. Sam didn't want to spend too much time thinking about what his brother was planning.

"Sam." Dean sighed and his gaze intensified. "Why didn't you _fucking_ say anything? After all the shit we've been through, everything we've seen…"

Finally, answer started to trickle into Sam's mind. "I didn't plan this, Dean. Do you think I did this just to piss you off or something because -"

"- Don't be stupid. I just can't believe you didn't tell me-"

"- I didn't _want_ it to be true," Sam almost yelled.

A heavy silence fell over the small room and Sam felt like it was a little harder to breathe.

"Sam," Dean said softly.

Sam held up his hand and shook his head. He'd much rather deal with Dean's anger than anything else. "I. At first I didn't, I just couldn't believe it. And it seemed like things were okay. I wasn't. I felt." All the protests got jammed up in Sam's throat and he ended up just shrugging.

Dean was shaking his head but the Colt was still pointing at Sam.

Another sigh rattled free of Sam's lungs. "It is what it is."

Dean's eyes widened again. "Really, Sam? That's what ya got?"

"We both know what this means, Dean."

Dean’s expression hardened as he stared at his brother. "It _means_ I'm supposed to take this gun and shoot you."

For some reason, Sam couldn't take the expression on Dean's face so he hung his head. Sam had been in those very boots before. He cleared his throat. "It's the only thing you can do."

Dean scoffed and took a step forward. "Look at me, you son of a bitch."

After a deep breath, Sam raised his head and met his brother's gaze.

Dean's eyes were glassy and wide, his jaw set. There was a muscle in his neck twitching under a sheen of sweat.

"Dean, I'm sorry. This isn't how I thought things would go. It's not what I wanted. You _know_ that, right?" He was sure that _somewhere_ in Dean's brain he _had_ to understand that everything had just happened _to_ Sam.

"I've spent my entire life lookin' after you, Sam." As his shoulders sagged, Dean smiled wryly. "And this is what it comes down to."

"Dean."

Dean held up his free hand to silence his brother. "I'm supposed to put a silver bullet into your heart. After all the times I dragged your ass out of the way of jaws, or pulled a rope away from choking you. With _these_ hands, Sam."

All Sam could do was nod. Dean was right.

Looking at Dean was about the most difficult thing that Sam had ever done. Dean looked betrayed and guilty at the same time.

Yes. Sam was putting it _all_ on Dean again. Yet again, the oldest Winchester brother would have to shoulder the pain of being the solution. There really wasn't anything Sam could do about it. Well, there was one thing.

"Give me the gun, Dean. I'll do it."

The expression on Dean's face flipped into one of shock. He even stepped back as though Sam had slapped him. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Dean shook his head slowly. "No."

"Dean-"

"Shut your mouth. I have _never_ left you holding the bag and I'm not gonna do it now."

It was getting harder for Sam to swallow past the knot of emotion in his throat. It was all too much and he could feel the urge to run. _Flee_. But there was no way to outrun what he'd become.

The brothers stared at each other for so long that Sam could feel his eyes beginning to water. His mouth felt dry. "Dean, I need you to do this. I can't live like this without hurting people. You're the one who has to do it if you won't let me. I don't want to wait. I. I'll just suffer-"

Dean's fist connecting with Sam's jaw cut his sentence off. His head whipped to the side so forcefully he felt dizzy. He folded over at the waist and stayed there, hands on his thighs as his jaw throbbed. He could taste blood and spat on the dingy carpet.

When Sam finally managed to straighten up his head was throbbing. He dragged his thumb along his bottom lip. It hurt. "Hit me all you want."

"Fuck you, Sam."

The room filled up with a weighty silence again and then Sam's entire body lurched. Dean's hands grabbed at Sam's shoulders and he shoved forward until Sam’s back slammed into the wall behind him.

The breath was forced out of Sam's lungs and he gasped for air.

The cool muzzle of the gun was pressed to Sam's chest. "De-"

"Shut up!" Dean growled. He pressed his forearm across Sam's throat and held him to the wall.

Sam’s fingers curled over his brother's arm but he didn't try to free himself.

Dean was shaking his head slowly. "Sam you don't know - you just don't understand."

Frowning, Sam stared into his brother's eyes. He couldn't read anything but pain on Dean's face.

Dean looked down at the gun, took a deep breath and then uncurled his fingers. The pistol fell to the carpet with a dull thud.

Sam's heart began to thump harder and faster. He didn't want to be left alone to deal with being a fucking werewolf. When it came down to it, he really wasn't all that sure if he _could_ kill himself. "Dean, I need you."

Pulling back slightly, Dean stared at Sam intently from beneath a furrowed brow. Clarity seemed to slide into Dean's gaze and his shoulders relaxed, almost imperceptibly.

Sam had seen it before. It was _resignation._ "Dean?"

A gentle smile tugged at Dean's lips. "Sam, I can't kill you."

"I know it's. It's the hardest thing to do. I've done it, Dean. You can do this last thing for me."

Dean's gaze hardened. His nails dug into Sam's flesh. "You comparing this to the night you had with-"

"No." Sam shook his head furiously. "No, I'm not. I just know what it's like to have to do this to someone you care about. It's not-"

Dean groaned and thin his lips were crushed against Sam’s. The kiss was rough, hard, it was a little painful. Sam's lungs ached and his head was spinning. Dean was _kissing_ him.

Sam's lips parted to protest… to pray… to say his brother's name, and Dean deepened the kiss. One of his hands slid into Sam's hair and gripped a handful.

Sam's arms fell to his sides, his fingers curled slowly into the palms of his hands. Everything was _Dean_. Full lips, rough stubble, sweat, metal, leather and so much strength.

When Dean's lips pulled away from Sam's, both of them gasped for breath.

Dean's hand was still tangled in Sam's hair and he tugged until their foreheads were pressed together. "Don't say anything," he said gruffly.

There wasn't a coherent thought in Sam's mind so he couldn't have said anything if he wanted to. Blood was racing through his veins. His skin felt like it was on fire.

Dean's breathing was ragged and uneven and his cheeks were flushed.

Sam's mind was trying to catch up with what had happened. It tried and failed. Dean had kissed him. _Fuck_ Sam's lips were still buzzing with the sensation of the touch.

They stood there, for what seemed like, forever to Sam. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to try and calm his racing heart.

Dean's fingers untangled from Sam's hair and his hand settled on his brother's shoulder. "You. You didn't lose your shit."

Laughter threatened Sam's composure. It was more of a panicked reaction than anything else. Sam couldn't even begin to process what had happened. And Dean. Dean had kissed him and now Dean… "Dean-"

Dean's answer was to shove Sam away from him. The violence of it was shocking after the way they'd been standing there, foreheads pressed together, breathing the very same air.

When Dean looked up he held up his hand to silence Sam. "Don't. Say. A. Word."

But time was still trickling away from them and, like it or not, something had to be done. Sam's head was aching. There were _way_ too many emotions tangled up inside of him.

Dean swayed slightly from side to side where he stood. His gaze was locked on the gun that was lying at Sam's feet. Finally, he shook his head slowly from side to side. "I can't lose you."

A shudder of fucked up emotions rippled down Sam's body. He couldn't live the way he was; they both knew it. But looking at Dean's face, still feeling the crush of a kiss - Sam wasn't sure he could do what needed to be done.

But, Sam would do _anything_ for his big brother.

Sam's knees felt weak and he moved as quickly as he could. He snatched the gun off the floor, stumbled slightly as he straightened up. The pistol flipped around and Sam pressed the muzzle against his chest.

"Sam, no-"

"Dean, I can't make you do this." With his free hand, Sam wiped at his lips. He could still taste the kiss. The sensation of it had started a slow burn down Sam's body.

Before Sam could even draw a breath, Dean's entire body weight slammed into him. The gun was wrenched out of Sam's hand and thudded into something across the room. Dean's fist connected with Sam's jaw and he tasted a fresh bloom of blood.

When Sam's body was finally under his own control again, he struggled to get an arm around Dean's neck.

But Dean was strong and he'd always been fast. He twisted out of Sam's grasp and hooked a leg around one of Sam's. They both tumbled to the ground and Sam's shoulder connected _hard_ with the TV stand.

Dean straddled Sam's hips and shoved his brother down harder against the floor.

Panting, Sam peered up through the hair that had fallen across his face.

The look on Dean's face was fierce. It was almost as though he was daring Sam to move.

Warmth trickled down over Sam's chin. It was the blood that he could taste. He gingerly ran his tongue over his teeth and was glad his teeth actually felt solid. What a _stupid_ thing to even think about.

"You're not goin' anywhere," Dean said gruffly.

"Dean!"

"Enough!" Dean yelled so loud that his voice seemed to rattle around in the room for a while. "Not now."

Frowning, Sam reached over Dean's arm to wipe at the blood he could feel running down his neck.

"Not _now_ ," Dean said in a near-whisper. For a few moments, his hands pressed harder on Sam's bare skin then they relaxed. A shaking palm slid to the side and settled over Sam's heart.

The heat of Dean's palm sent a shiver down Sam's spine. He couldn't look away from the glistening green of Dean's eyes. Sam's tongue ran along his bottom lip as he tried to slow his breathing.

Dean's fingers spread wide and he ran his hand down Sam's bare chest slowly. Sam bit down on his bottom lip, it stung and he sucked in a deep breath.

He could feel heat building inside his chest. The way Dean was looking at him was pulling a flush onto Sam's cheeks. Dean had _never_ looked at him like that before. And the slow, teasing drag of Dean's hand was making Sam's heart race.

 _God_. What was happening?

The instant that Dean's thumb slid along the waistband of Sam's jeans, both men froze.

Dean's eyes narrowed slightly, his lips parting as he let out a long, slow, breath.

All Sam could do was stare. Dean's cheeks and neck were flushed, sweat glistened on his forehead and his eyes… _fuck_ … Sam couldn't look away.

The lightest touch of Dean's fingers brushed over Sam's belly.

The breath Sam sucked in almost choked him. Heat was spiraling out of control everywhere in his body. A tingle of shame nipped at Sam and he finally managed to tear his gaze away from his brother's. He turned his head to the side and tried to swallow past the clench of emotion in his throat.

After a while, Dean's fingers touched Sam's chin and then urged his head back so their gazes could meet again. He simply stared down at Sam and lifted an eyebrow slightly.

Sam knew what he was being asked. He _knew_ that Dean wanted to move that hand further, wanted to feel more. It was the most confusing, all-encompassing, crazy, amazing thing that Sam had ever felt and it scared the shit out of him.

Sam opened his mouth to speak and realized his didn't have any idea what to say. He was sorry he hadn't told Dean when he'd been hurt. He was even more sorry that he hadn't told Dean how worried he was about changing. He should never have asked Dean to shoot him; it was Sam's fault, only _his_ responsibility.

And the fact that Dean had kissed him should have felt fucked up and wrong and it didn't. It wasn't something Sam had expected but, somehow, it felt _so_ familiar.

When Sam spoke, his voice wavered. "Dean, I don't know how-"

"Shut up," Dean said in a low voice. "We'll figure it out. Somehow. Like we always do."

Sam had never wanted to believe those words more. After a deep breath, Sam nodded once. His default was to trust Dean, to let his big brother be in charge.

When Dean sat back on Sam's hips, his expression darkened. He licked his full bottom lip and then shifted to a crouch and stood. He reached down and hauled Sam to his feet.

They stood too close together for a few moments then Dean walked past his brother and headed to the door. He bent on the way and snatched up the gun then locked the door and flicked off the bright, overhead light.

There was a single lamp on Dean’s nightstand. The shade cast a dim, blue light in a circle around the nightstand.

The silence in the room was comfortable. Hell, Sam had spent more time living with his brother than anyone else in the world.

Purposefully, Dean set the gun down on the rickety table by the door. He held it there for a while, pressed to the table as though he was afraid it would disappear. After a deep breath, he turned to face Sam again and shrugged out of his over shirt. He tossed it over the back of the chair and walked back over to Sam.

Before Sam could get out the words he opened his mouth to say, Dean grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the bed.

"Tomorrow," Dean said.

"What?" Sam's throat was so dry he could barely swallow.

"We'll… tomorrow." There was intensity to Dean's expression that Sam hadn't seen before.

Sam nodded. It didn't really matter that he didn't know what his brother meant. He had enough faith in Dean to know that it would be dealt with. _It_ would be dealt with.

Dean didn't wait for Sam to answer. He turned him and pushed against his chest until he had no choice but to sit down.

The whole situation was surreal and Sam had to close his eyes for a few moments.

He jumped a little when Dean's hands settled on his shoulders. He couldn't help shivering. It should seem strange to Sam, the way Dean's hands sent waves of _want_ rippling down his body. It _should_ have but, it didn't.

Dean's gaze moved down along Sam's chest slowly. The look made Sam feel too exposed. He frowned and folded his arms across his chest.

The quiet was beginning to get to Sam. He had no idea why he was sitting there with his shirt off, looking up at his brother.

Dean slid his hand around the side of Sam's neck and squeezed slightly. He smiled a little. It was a smile Sam had loved his entire life. It had always been just for him.

Instinct made Sam turn into the uncharacteristically gentle touch. Dean touched him all the time but, rarely in a way that made Sam feel as though he was _home._

Dean sank down onto his knees and slid his hands up Sam's thighs.

Sam leaned back, startled, confused and thinking that his heart would explode in his chest if Dean did anything else.

When Dean looked up, his lashes seemed darker than ever. His pupils were wide and black and he ran his tongue slowly along his bottom lip.

All that heat that had been simmering below the surface of Sam's skin began to boil. He shifted closer to the edge of the bed unconsciously.

Dean moved forward and pushed Sam's legs apart. His hands slid over Sam's hips and he dug his fingers in. "You good?"

Nodding, Sam didn't risk trying to say anything.

Sam was still a little lost. They'd gone from a gun to a punch and ended up with a kiss and the unfamiliar heat that was crashing through Sam's body. "How? What are we -"

"Sam," Dean said sternly. "Just give me, us, this. You ok?"

Sam nodded. He felt strangely calm about what was happening or, at least, what he thought was happening. He was _fine_ and he shouldn't be. Dean was his _brother_. The brother he'd looked up to his entire life. This was Dean, who had brought a string of women back to a plethora of shitty hotel rooms and Sam had always skulked away. If he'd ever felt jealous it was because he wished he had the same wanton streak Dean did. Right? That _was_ the reason.

Dean kneeled up higher so he could meet Sam's gaze directly. "No good ever comes of you thinking, Sammy."

A smile flicked across Sam's face. "You. You want…"

Dean's expression softened and one corner of his mouth turned up. "You."

The answer took Sam's breath away a bit and he gasped. He watched as worry creased Dean's brow.

"It's good, Dean." He'd do anything for his brother. He couldn't stop thinking that. And he could continue telling himself that was the reason that his heart was racing.

Dean leaned in closer as though he was testing the waters.

All Sam could do was try not to tremble. Now he _knew_ what was coming he could feel his heart thumping even harder. It was probably nerves.

Their lips met softly, at first. Sam's lashes fluttered closed and his fingers dug into the bed covers.

Dean's lips were smooth, fuller than Sam's and the scent of his skin was different and it was all around Sam. He knew the scent of his brother. He'd woken up to it in the back seat of the Impala when he'd fallen asleep on his shoulder. He'd inhaled the scent of Dean's hair when they'd been hogtied together in a storage cupboard. The times they'd fought each other that scent had been there daring Sam to stop fighting.

Sam took in a deep breath and Dean's mouth opened a little wider. The feel of that invitation sent electricity crackling through Sam. Almost imperceptibly, he leaned forward into the kiss.

Dean felt it. After the slightest sigh, Dean lurched up. He crawled forward and pushed Sam down so he could half-lay on him. He kicked a leg over both of Sam's thighs and pressed up close to his brother's side.

The room felt too close and as though the walls had all leaned in to peer over them. Sam squeezed his eyes shut and willed himself to stay still.

Dean's breath was hot on Sam's neck and his arm snaked across Sam's bare chest. He held on to his little brother tightly.

"It'll be okay, Sam. We always find a way."

Sam didn't believe a word of it but he turned towards the sound of Dean's voice.

Their lips connected a little off kilter and Dean moved even closer. The moment Sam's lips parted, Dean claimed his mouth roughly.

The kiss was hard and probably one of the most intense things that Sam had ever felt. His bones were on fire and he worried that his blood might dry up and blow away like sand.

Dean's nails were dragging down Sam's chest then dug in. There was heat everywhere in Sam's body and even if he didn't understand it, he wanted it.

About the time that Sam remembered he should be breathing, Dean's leg slid further up over Sam's thighs. The press of Dean's knee over Sam's already hard cock made his entire body jolt. He yanked on the quilt and threw his head back.

It sounded like Dean chuckled darkly but before Sam could sort it out, Dean's lips were back on his neck. Teeth scraped over Sam's Adam's apple and he shuddered. Dean bit down on the sensitive skin before dragging his tongue slowly over the tingling skin.

Finally, Sam managed to pry his fingers off of the quilt. He gripped the firm muscle of Dean's arm, with his other hand he reached up to grasp the back of his brother's neck. He liked the way Dean's flesh felt against his palm.

Dean's thumb dragged along the waistband of Sam's jeans. On the second pass, Dean slipped his thumb under the denim.

The sensation made another jolt of sensation slam into Sam and he lost his breath. He whispered his brother's name into the kiss and was sure he felt his brother tense.

A growl rumbled in Dean's chest and he tugged at the button fly on Sam's jeans. Once it was loose he jammed his hand under the material. Sam could hardly breathe. He couldn't help the way his shoulders curled up off the mattress.

Eyes wide, fingers digging into Dean's arm, Sam could feel his heart banging away in his chest. His blood was racing. He could feel the burn of blood flushing his cheeks. He'd never felt anything like it. The strength in Dean's body was formidable and Sam actually felt, for once, as though he wasn't in control. And he liked it, and he knew how fucked up that was.

It was like Dean could sense the change in Sam’s mindset. He slid his rough fingers around Sam's cock and squeezed tightly. His lips found Sam’s ear and his breath was hot and moist. "Let go, Sam. Just this once."

If Sam had the slightest hope that he might be able to string together a witty retort he would have. But, the way Dean's hand was gripping his cock was breaking Sam’s mind. He felt like he was being pulled apart and put back together at the same time.

"That's it," Dean growled. That gravelly voice was like flint to the tinder box in Sam's belly.

Dean stroked his brother's swollen shaft. It was rough and perfect and Sam couldn't breathe. He curled his arm around Dean's neck and held on. He wanted Dean's mouth; the spicy taste of him.

Relief flooded through Sam's body when his mouth collided with Dean's. He managed to get a grip on Dean's hair and he held him there.

Sam's hips pushed up off the bed; he needed more and fast. Of course, Dean knew. Dean knew Sam better than anyone else. "Jesus, Dean."

Sam's lips were swollen and aching. His mouthed his way clumsily across Dean's stubbled cheek and nipped at him.

Dean groaned and pressed his hips forward. Sam could feel the hard line of Dean's arousal through his jeans.

All the breath shot out of Sam's lungs when Dean swept his thumb over the slick head of Sam's cock.

A hundred days of pleasure rippled through Sam in the space between two heartbeats. When he came he felt the warm splashes on his belly. It was like being a fucking teenager all over again.

For his part, Dean thrust his hips forward a few more times then let out a sweet growl against Sam's ear as his body stiffened.

The room was spinning around Sam’s head and he could feel slick heat trickling away from his body. There wasn't a big enough word to describe the way everything felt.

Dean was panting softly against Sam's ear and each exhale sent a little shiver tripping down Sam's spine. "Thank you."

It hadn't been a favor. It wasn't something Sam had done purely to please his brother. He knew that now that it was over. _God_. Sam couldn't deal with the fact that they were lying there together; Dean's fingers rested in the come that was cooling on Sam's belly. It was a little unbelievable. But, it had been a week full of unbelievable.

When too much time passed without Sam replying, Dean propped himself up with his elbow. There was a familiar expression on Dean's face. It was one Sam had seen his entire life. Dean knew that Sam could get lost in his thoughts. The expression was Dean searching for a way into the maze of Sam's thoughts.

Dean rubbed his hand across his brother's chest then he grunted and rolled away onto his back. His hand rested on Sam's forearm.

When Sam managed to catch his breath, the room began to return to normal.

"You need some rest," Dean said gruffly.

But Sam felt like he might never sleep again. He had to be completely fucked up. _Had_ to be. To begin with, he had messed up on a hunt and paid the highest price for it. Then he had kept his mistake a secret from the one person who had his back every moment of his life. Laying there next to his brother; Sam felt the burn of shame begin to creep over him. Brothers didn't do what he and Dean had done, and they certainly shouldn't enjoy it.

 _Rest_. Dean wanted Sam to put all that out of his head and just go to sleep. Right.

But, Sam was patient and he had listened to his brother fall asleep for years. As soon as Dean was asleep then he would leave.

After a long sigh. Dean squeezed Sam's forearm then rolled onto his side.

-=-=-=-

The thing about leaving Dean was that Sam had never been very good at it. Oh, he'd managed it on a few occasions but it hadn't stuck. He always ended up back at his brother's side.

It was like they were attached at the hip by a relentless bungee cord. It was exhausting to fight that constant pull.

The plan Sam had was to wait until Dean fell asleep and then leave his brother.

That was exactly what he'd done. He didn't have much to pack because he never really _un_ packed. He moved silently, Dean had taught him that. Duffle bag in one hand, jacket and boots in the other, Sam had stepped out of the motel room door. He closed it quietly behind him.

He set his duffle bag down and sat on the hood of the Impala to pull his boots on. The afternoon air was cool and Sam shivered as he slipped his jacket on. He had no idea where to go.

Leaving Dean was about all the mistakes that Sam had made. He was a _fucking_ werewolf. That should never have happened. He'd let his brother down in the worst possible way.

Maybe, going along with the kissing, the touching - maybe that had been about trying to repay Dean. If Dean wanted it, why wouldn't Sam give it to him. Even if it _was_ wrong he owed it to Dean. _That_ was what he would keep telling himself anyway.

The problem was that Sam couldn't move off the hood of the stupid car. He was frozen, he was twitchy and nervous; he could still feel his brother's lips on his and the way his body had reacted to Dean's rough touches.

He needed to leave Dean but Sam sat there on the hood staring at the motel room door. Room number nine except the black plastic number had spun on the nail that held it to the door and it was hanging upside down. Dean had laughed and said that numbers like that always saved people in horror movies.

Just on the other side of the flimsy door, Dean was asleep and Sam stayed there on the hood of the car. He wasn't sure there was even a place for people like him to _be_.

What he should do was shoot himself and get it all over with. Yeah, he'd picked up one of the silver bullets they always had with them. What he _should_ do was put the damned thing straight through his heart.

He sat there for hours. Sometimes, he shifted restlessly because his back ached. He heard the distant noise of traffic fade away as it grew later and then he heard the evening trucks heading along the distant highway.

The sky went from a bright blue to a dull grey. Evening was coming.

Sam had sat there on the hood of the car for hours. He kept making bargains with himself. If ten vehicles pass in the distance in the next half hour, then he was meant to leave. If another person emerged from a motel room before the sun went behind the motel, then he would leave. But each challenge came and went and left Sam sitting there on the cold metal hood.

A light flicked on and the curtain to their room glowed warmly. Dean was awake. He'd notice Sam was gone immediately. Dean was a hunter; he noticed everything.

There was a thump inside the motel room then the door flew open. Dean shot out with one arm in his jacket and the other shoving his Colt into the back of his jeans.

When Dean looked up, he froze. The door swung all the way open behind him and banged against the wall. Dean smiled wryly and shook his head ever so slightly. "Thought you were gone."

"I planned to be." Sam's voice was shaky.

"What happened?" Dean didn't look pissed off; he just looked tired.

It was a good question and one Sam wasn't sure he could answer. He shrugged a shoulder. "Guess I didn't know where to go."

"Ah." Dean tilted his head slightly. "So, if you had a convenient ticket to ride, you'd be gone?"

"I can walk, Dean. It was a destination that I didn't fucking have."

Dean nodded once but he stayed silent.

It felt to Sam like another standoff.

After a while, Dean headed over to sit beside his brother. "You better not have put the slightest scratch on my car."

Even in his messed up state Sam couldn't help smiling. Dean's priorities certainly never changed.

They were silent for a while. Dean sighed and slid his fingers along the hood of the car until his hand was _just_ about touching Sam's. "You still goin' somewhere?"

"I tried," Sam answered honestly. "I thought, well, I'm not sure what I thought. But, I can't."

"Good. It's a dumb fuckin' idea." Dean withdrew his hand and rubbed both palms up and down on his jeans.

"What do you suggest?"

Dean shrugged a shoulder and looked over at Sam. "Like I said. We do what we _always_ do. We figure it out."

Sam pushed away the hint of hope that appeared. "All these years we’ve taken monsters down. _You_ don't make exceptions to that, Dean. You never have."

There was a fierceness in Dean's gaze that was familiar to Sam. It was the kind of look that Dean got in the middle of all the shit. It was when everything was fucked up beyond belief and Dean was so cock-sure he could fix everything.

"I make exceptions for _you_ , Sammy. You're mine. I've taken care of you your whole life. I'm not gonna stop now."

For some stupid reason, Sam was actually beginning to believe his brother. Dean's confidence was contagious. Contagious, but maybe unfounded. "I don't know, Dean."

"I do," Dean answered immediately. "Just let that be enough for right now. Okay?"

Not everything could be solved. Sam knew that better than anyone. But, every bone in Sam's body wanted to believe Dean. It had saved his sanity _so_ many times when he was a kid; believing in Dean was second nature to Sam.

"I can't hurt you. If we can't fix this and things go sideways…"

Dean's expression softened slightly. "If it comes to that, I'll take care of it."

There was truth written on Dean's face. It didn't need to any more explicit than that. If they couldn't come up with a solution Dean would kill Sam. It was reassuring and terrifying at the same time.

Sam nodded.

"Okay then. Let's get breakfast." Dean slid off the hood of the Impala. "We have a month to solve this."

A month.

It was a month until the next full moon.

28 days.

-=-=-=- Six months later -=-=-=-

Dean moved quickly along a jagged ridge. It was about two hundred feet down to the river below. He turned to look over his shoulder. He could hear something moving in the bush behind him, the crush of twigs and dry leaves under feet.

Dean quickened his pace until he was jogging. The crunching behind him became a little louder.

Adrenaline pumped through Dean's veins. He could feel the delicious _push_ of it in his body.

But there was no reason to run indefinitely.

As he slowed his pace again he glanced down at the white water that was so far below. Probably good fish. It seemed like the kind of river that would be good to camp near. There just never seemed to be enough time to do that.

Dean stepped as close to the edge as he could without slipping. Long way down. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath of the fresh mountain air. He reached down and smoothed his fingers over rough fur.

The wolf at Dean's side lifted its nose and sniffed at the wind that danced past them. When the wolf sneezed Dean laughed softly. "I bet you're the only wolf with hay fever."

The wolf snorted and leaned heavily against Dean's leg.

The warm weight of the strong animal made Dean smile. "We've got stuff to do. We better get goin'. Places to see; people to do."

There was a low growl at Dean's side and he laughed again.

They _did_ have a lot to do, and a short time to do it in.

-=-=-=- to be continued -=-=-=-


End file.
